Friday, April 26, 2013

Lamento de un Pueblo (Poesía Electrónica)





Palés,
perdónanos Palés.

Palés,
perdónanos Palés.

las rumbas, macumbas, catumbas, y bámbulas.
ya solo rugen las mandingas, los tu-cu-tús y las quimbobadas.

Perdónanos Palés,

Perdónanos Palés

Hemos convertido tu ñam-ñam
en ñames.
Hemos ignorado tu voz,
negando que nos declames.

Palés,
perdónanos Palés.
Tu canción la hemos entendido
al revés.
Que hemos dado más importancia al sonido
de la tés.

Palés,
perdónanos Palés.

(2013)

Rollerderby Girl (Poetry)


Tough,
this girl is tough.
Tough as nails,
or tough as some
 random cliché.

Her face is a
mask of determination,
her frown drips in sweat.

Rolling, rolling fast,
fast, so fast,
fast.

She grits her teeth.
She knows a hit is coming.
A rogue elbow, a random knee.
She grits her teeth.
She knows a hit is coming.
Her body falls, her body
hits the floor.

She gets up,
she always gets
up.

Pain is not here,
pain is away. 
Far away.
Pain, pain go
away.

She gets up,
she always gets
up.

Rolling, rolling fast,
fast, so fast,
 fast.

You do not, you do not
any more mighty shoe.
You do not keep me down.
You do not.

In the rink, I am strong.
I am Valkerye on wheels,
I am Athena, Aphrodite,
Persephone
in short shorts beating up
Antigone.

Rolling, rolling fast,
fast, so fast,
fast.

(2013)



Wednesday, April 24, 2013

He do the Puerto Rican en diferentes voces (E-Poetry)

(Note: For more information on the writing process of this poem through Twitter, click here.)

Dicen que abril es un mes cruel,
alelís blooming with a tropical spell.

A cacique medallion buried under parking lot blacktop,
its glint hidden to eyes shaded from the sun.
Mirame, soy Agueybana el bravo.
Mirame, mi cara se a borrado,
ya no se escucha mi canción.

A cry for recognition drowned in a sea of stars,
a grito unheeded, the muskets of struggle stifled.
Never ending Spaniard, Taino and African melodies
gutted, sacked and trifled.

Heed the song of the motherland,
its roots severed, brought in chains
wrought by iron gods,
in sweet soil left to languish.

Los gritos.
Los gritos fueron cosa de mi padre,
y mi abuelo, y los viejos.
A mi no me queda voz pa' gritar.
All I got left is a meek little "Yes, sir"
and a "What can I do for you today?"
I got bills to pay, mi pana.

So I render unto Caesar his spring tribute,
and take my thirty pieces of silver,
all the while my blood is screaming.

¿Donde está mi pava?
They burnt it with cathode rays,
warm transistors and
indifference.

Dead presidents barter plastic wares
speaking to our schizo inner voice,
the burden of the privileged.

Transactions evangelical
by stars n' stripes brought about,
lorded by this eye in the pyramid
who watches over all.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers
swollen with April rain
water
beside the kikirikí
chickens.

Río de voces de su cauce sale fuerte.
Refuerza tu guarida, capullo incipiente,
La tormenta se aproxima.

Nada duro dajao, que te lleva la corriente.
Chopa pa tu cueva, el agua turbia ciega.
Camarón, llego la hora de tu siesta.

Las aguas turbias traen fortuna al que pesca.
Pero pocos pescan, porque la tilapia es barata,
Blanquita, y made in China.

Tune the cuatro...break a string?
Make it three, so your chord can sing.

Mientras, el viejo se lamenta
su cuatro ha sido callado
por niños efimeros jugando
al narco.

¡Guyanabito al cuadrado!
Habitando en Guaynabo
y estudiando en Sagrado…

Y mirar la Isla desde mi cima,
con este sentimiento amargo,
guaynabitos guele talco
que se atosigan de golosinas,
Y tranquilos caminan sin nadita de pudor.
Y como soy jodedor digo desde mi palestra
los políticos apestan a dinero en flor 
Y por supuesto I can see,
by the dawns early light,
la sonrisa de mi mai diciéndo
no se preucupe,
al fondo canta la Lupe.
con su cántico inmortal.
Y to' el que quiera retar
mi condición de boricua,
le digo de forma inocua,
arrodíllese pa' que chupe.

And please do pardon my french
que es que soy jíbaro bravo,
jalo al toro por rabo,
pagando deudas a plazos
y poetizo cuernazos.

En rodillas pedimos más,
pero más aun no queremos dar.
Yo soy yo y na'mas.
Que page el pendejo
that comes behind.

Soy mejor que tú pero soy humilde.
Mis prioridades están claras:
aros 20 en mi guagua

But it ain't so bad in the temple of Mammon,
where you can get a slice of the Dream
at just 24.99% APR.

Y "contra usura" es pa aquel que tiene techo
y una barriga llena, compay.

Stoplight.
Paí dame un dime pa’ la cura
y ‘tar bien high,
puej me deja no pensar
y vivir como los
zombis del especial.

Y me fundo en un abrazo
con los boricuas ausentes
que tuvieron q emigrar
buscando dead presidentes.
Mis respetos a esa gente.

Nos hablaba Corretjer de boricuas siderales.
Pero, ¿a que isla volverá
el cosmonauta boricano al regresar?

Y yo me pregunto: ¿Quien soy yo?
¿Le debo mas al coquí,
o al astronauta de MTV?

You call me wetback, you call me spik.
Yet, like you, I grew up on Disney
and Sesame Street.

We are more than culos,
salsa and some dancing...
I am Puerto Rico, man/woman,
son/daughter, present and future.
¡Coño!

Dame tra tra tra,
dame tu-cu-tú,
sopla el caracol,
tócame el tambor.
Dame las cadencias de tu piel
mestiza de mujer de mar.

Let’s Salcedo our fears.
And all through the tears
become the islanders
that challenge all we hold dear!

Y estos fragmentos bailan en mi tiempo.
Guanaboina donde habita iguanaboina.

Hoja de yagrumo refleja tu condición.
Deja que el rocío de la mañana
se pose en tu cara clara
y recoja los rayos del sol.

¿Seremos gente?
¿Seremos maboyas?
¿Floreceremos como el alelí
en primavera?
¿Nos romperemos y no seremos
nada?

Aunque nunca sabes bien si
eres o no eres.
Sabes que hay algo
que te afecta lo que eres.

This morning I woke up
to an iPhone's scream.
I'm just another drone,
living on a dream.

Viviendo en un sueño de mar
y concreto armado,
con sirenas arropadas de
aceite y plastico procesado.
Hasta que las voces gritando
nos despiertan,
and we
drown.

Written/Escrito por:

Dennis Costa @gitmoguest
Leonardo Flores @Leonardo_UPRM
Roberto Micheri @sunglar
Ricardo L. Ramos Soto @Ricardo_L
Rick Rivera @RickGRivera
Camilo Torres @ChinoLadino
P.C.V. Javier @PeteValle

Edited by/Editado Por
Pedro Valle Javier



Click here to read the poem through Twitter.


























(2013)



Tuesday, April 23, 2013

"He do the Puerto Rican en diferentes voces": An amazing experience

What can I say about the collaborative e-poetry experiment that was He do the Puerto Rican en diferentes voces? It was a wonderful experience. I truly loved it. I sincerely want to thank all of you who participated. I hope all of you enjoyed it as well.

 Some of the verses that came out of this poem are  among the best lines on contemporary Puerto Rican identity I have ever read. I am in awe of the imagery, the feelings and observations my fellow poets and contributors added to the poem.

Amazing, is the word that would really describe it.

Overall, the experiment was a success. It got some good participation going, and the interplay between the poets was fantastic. I loved that the poem is filled with the distinct voices of each poet, which was the intention, but each voice played with the other voices in interesting and fantastic ways.

I will edit the poem a bit and post it in three forms. A text version with links to each specific post, a screen capture version of the whole poem and a link to the specific hashtag so the poem can be read as it was created.

Will we organize another experience like this one? Maybe. Probably. Let me know if you'd like another one and/if you'd like to participate.



Thursday, April 18, 2013

He do the Puerto Rican en diferentes voces: An experiment with collaborative e-poetry using Twitter

The internet is a fantastic medium for writers. For one thing, it allows us to publish our thoughts, ideas and words instantly. It also allows us to communicate with other writers across the globe. It's also allowed Puerto Rican writers to stay connected, sharing ideas and stories, no matter where in the world their lives have taken them.

This is what has inspired this experiment.

On Monday, April 22, 2013, myself and a group of Puerto Rican writers will compose a collaborative poem using Twitter all throughout the day. The poem will be titled He do the Puerto Rican en diferentes voces and the concept behind it is for us, contemporary Puerto Rican writers and poets, both in the island and in exile, to discuss, express and define our own identity as Puerto Ricans as it applies to today's globalized, modern, interconnected world.

 Here's how it's going to work. On the morning of April 22nd, at around 8:00 am, eastern standard time, I will post the first two verses of the poem through my Twitter account @PeteValle and using the hashtag #PRDifferentVoces. Throughout the day, myself and my fellow poets will add to the poem, writing verses in English and Spanish, using the same hashtag, playing off each other and adding each unique voice and experience to it. The next day, I will publish the entire poem here.

What can you do? We invite you to follow the poem during the day by searching Twitter using the hashtag #PRDifferentVoces. We'd also love it if you would add your own experience and voice to this collaborative effort.We think we can create something wonderful and unique using Twitter and the internet as a medium.

We hope you can join me and the talented group of poets that have agreed to use their pens...eeer...I mean, their keyboards, to spin their words into verses.

Thank you!

P.C.V. Javier @PeteValle
Ricardo L. Ramos @ricardo_l
Dennis Costa @gitmoguest
Camilo Torres @chinoladino
Rick Rivera @RickGRivera

Monday, April 8, 2013

Nostalgia (Poetry)



 (Note: This is for Germán, Ricardo and Berto. Thank you, gentlemen.)

Nostalgia

We were
four.

The music from heaven
synced our footsteps.
Laughter and faulty chromosomes in ink
bonded us forever.
The sky was unreachable,
but we had to try anyway.

I miss that.

I miss walking long capitalist hallways,
dressed like hip lumberjacks.
A couple of bucks in our pockets,
a play yard singing with beeps and whistles.
We could be anywhere, anyone, anyhow.

Look at us, we didn’t
look like you.

We didn’t look like you
wanted us to.

Darkly dressed in denim and Doc Martens.

We didn’t look like you.
We didn’t want to.

You said so much,
without saying anything at all.
We could look through all the windows.

Or did you not expect that we could see to see?

But, we were
four.

We had each other,
and pages and pages of brightly colored capes.
And blurry blue spines on fields of green.
And swords and sorcery, and bags full of
 rolling numbers.

We had it all,
            though our hands hit empty against the
wall.

We were
four.

And together
 we
 survived. 

(2013)